


Brats and Beer and Don't Forget the Onions

by MissMoe



Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: American Football, Bratwurst, Cooking, Denny's, Green Bay Packers, Houston Texans, Humor, M/M, National Football League, Walking, beer and onions, culinary dispute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 06:33:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11686029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoe/pseuds/MissMoe
Summary: JJ Watt and Clay Matthews don't see eye-to-eye on the proper cooking of bratwurst. Aaron Rodgers plays Hamlet.





	Brats and Beer and Don't Forget the Onions

 

There was nothing _intrinsically_ macho about walking, and that was a problem because JJ’s current rehab program forbade his usual insane weight training regimen, which meant that his massive biceps were melting away faster than popsicles in the summer sun. JJ was reduced to what Aaron so meanly called the ‘sport of fat chicks and old geezers.’ Well, JJ wasn’t going to take that insult sitting down, no way, Jose. No, he was going to walk the shit out of that road, or roads, as many as it took to prove that walking wasn’t just for crusty wimps with bad knees or females with too much junk in their trunk. Besides, junk was always a good thing.

In the beginning, it was damn difficult. People would roll down their windows as they drove by whatever road JJ was walking on that led to a Denny’s restaurant and shout, “Get a job!” or “Suck my dick!” or any number of heartwarming phrases Midwesterners like to yell at strangers walking on the side of the road. Sometimes they would just throw garbage at him. Once it became known that the mysterious walker was _the_ JJ Watt—Waukesha’s very own native son and hero—and not some no-name hobo hoping to hitch a ride, people were much more considerate, screeching to a halt willy-nilly just to snap a selfie or snag an autograph. JJ was too nice a guy to do anything but mutter quietly under his breath, “Fucking asshole hypocrites.” So true, JJ, so true. 

 

One day, JJ arrived home after lunch at the Denny’s in Janesville to find Aaron on the back patio with Clay Matthews. They were standing at the grill and committing the worst sin imaginable: Aaron was placing grilled bratwurst links into a pot of simmering beer and onions. Clay, meanwhile, was stuffing brats on buns into his mouth almost as fast as Aaron could cook them. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” screamed JJ in horror. He was red-faced and sweaty from his twelve mile walk and all the coffee he drank and he probably smelled like old gym socks but that didn’t stop him from getting up into Aaron’s placid face. 

“What? We’re cooking brats, bro. Can’t you see?” Aaron waved the 16-inch OXO tong at the sizzling sausages. “Want some?” 

“That’s not the right way to do it, you moron!” JJ was livid and pointing wildly at the pot sitting on the burner attached to the grill. “You cook the brats in the beer and onions _first_. Then, and only then, do you put them on the grill. Jesus! It ain’t rocket science!” 

Aaron just stared into space, uncomprehending, but Clay shook his head and spoke confidently around his mouthful of meat and bread. “You’re wrong, dude. It’s grill first, then beer bath. That way you get that pure beer finish.” He swallowed before concluding with professorial gravity, “We all know that pure beer finish is _key_ to the perfect brat.” 

“You’re an idiot, Matthews," JJ declared with equal seriousness. "The whole point is to create that _snap_ on the skin and you can only get that perfect snap if you finish it off on the grill. Soaking it after grilling destroys the snap,” JJ insisted. 

Clay stood his ground as he thumbed open another roll and grabbed the tongs from Aaron. “Wrong again. Beer flavor always takes precedence over meaty snap.” 

That remark stunned JJ into temporary silence. He hadn’t pegged Clay as an intellectual, not like Aaron, who had the ungodly habit of reading _books_. And since when did Clay know how to use a word like ‘precedence’? Wasn’t that three syllables? Which made it at least one syllable too long for inclusion in Clay's treasure trove of vocabulary words. JJ watched Clay gently nestle another brat into the bun, then top it off with boiled onions and a generous squirt of mustard. “Do you even know what ‘precedence’ means?” JJ finally asked. 

Clay snorted and took a large bite. “Of course. It means _priority._ " 

Sheesh, thought JJ, that’s _four_ syllables out of Matthews, surely a new record for him. What is this world coming to? 

Aaron interrupted JJ's depressing reverie with one of his standard smart alecky quips. “To snap, or not to snap. That is the question.” Two pairs of grey-blue eyes landed squarely on his own peepers. “What? Was that lame?” 

JJ merely hung his head in defeat. “This is what I get for having West Coast fuckers as houseguests.” With that, he turned and trudged inside his luxurious cabin. “You’re all heathens!” he shouted over his shoulder before slamming the patio door shut. He planned on taking a nice cold shower and then…perhaps he'd sample a brat or two, brats that boasted a pure beer finish.

  

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what happened here. This silly story was inspired by a March 2017 Bleacher Report article about all the walking JJ did during his rehab from back surgery and then it just wandered off the reservation into food territory.
> 
> I blame it on the fact that it's August and in America that means our big boys are back in football training camp and my mind is even more undisciplined than normal.


End file.
